Somewhere Down the Crazy River
by Goose
Summary: Gojyo, a sultry summer night, and a woman of no consequence. (A vignette about nothing that attempts to explain everything, in which Gojyo does not fall in love.)


"Somewhere Down the Crazy River"

By Goose

Disclaimer:  Gojyo and everything else in the Saiyuki-verse belongs to various people that are not me.  

Rating:  PG for language

Summary:  Gojyo, a sultry summer night, and a woman of no consequence.  (A vignette about nothing that attempts to explain everything, in which Gojyo does not fall in love.)

Author's Note:  While listening to Robbie Robertson's "Somewhere Down the Crazy River" I got this scene stuck in my head and thought it would work well with Gojyo.  Much of the dialogue is taken directly from the song, and the lyrics can be found after the story.

---

Gojyo did not need to follow the trail from his house into town.  He knew the area as intimately as he knew his scars, and so was not concerned when he realized his dazed state has led him away from the well-worn paths of safety.  This happened often in the summer when days and nights blurred together.  He could get as drunk on dark heat and the scents of the season as he could on any liquor.

He had been unable to sleep—his bed too cold and the night too hot.  Gojyo had meant to go to the tavern and win some money and some women to last him through the days, but now he did not have the desire to keep walking, though he was not tired.  Summer nights after rainfall have their own smell and their own tangible substance that filled his lungs and his blood and slowed him down.

Gojyo followed the sounds of rushing water until he found the river.  The ground was still damp, but the wetness was cool and pleasant for now.  He kicked off his shoes and reveled in the feeling of grass and earth against his skin.  He breathed slowly, deeply, inhaling the world with the smoke from his cigarette.  The river had its own lullaby and had almost sung him to sleep when someone spoke and redefined the world he had created here.

"Why do you always go down to the tavern?"

He whirled, the voice clearing the fog in his mind for a moment.  There was a woman beside him.  He had never seen her before, but she would not have made much of an impression even if he had.

"I don't always go down to the tavern."

"Yes, you do," she stated.  "Every night you go away, every night you come back, and every day you spend sleeping off the booze and the cards and the sex."

"You've been watching?"  He had asked, but it had not really been a question.  Now that he knew and she knew there had been a need to give the truth shape with words.

"I've been waiting."  She watched the river while he watched her, wondering whether she was a possible threat, but the fog had left him spellbound again.  Everything seemed out of control and he realized that it was only on summer nights he did not mind this feeling.

"So why do you go?" she probed again.

"I don't know.  It's the way the river flows.  The river seems to know what's what, so I might as well follow its example."  Now the water captivated his attention while she stared at him.  

"Hang them," she declared.

"Who?"

"The people that go to the tavern.  They're greedy, gluttonous, and sinful in that place, but clean of all sin when they walk the streets in the light.  Who needs people like that?"  She nodded, convinced of her position.  "Hang them."

"I go to the tavern," he admonished.

"But you aren't there now.  You know the way back."  She offered him the ghost of a smile.

For the first time they looked at each other.

"You're crazy," he informed her.

She nodded towards the water.  "They say the river makes people crazy.  They say the water was cursed by a demon and now the sound fogs the mind and stirs the soul.  That's what crazy is."

"That's not the river.  That's the heat."  

He took a long drag from the cigarette, letting the poison soothe him.  As he exhaled, her hand was upon his, then her mouth upon his, then her body upon his.  The weight of her pushed them both to the ground.  The cigarette was lost, and Gojyo found he did not miss it.  

Gojyo took her moves as a convenience since he did not have to go all the way into town to find what he was looking for.  He drank in the taste of her with practiced ease, but brushed her aside when the taste of summer gave way to the taste of liquor.

"No," he said.

"Why?"

"Because you're drunk.  In the morning you'll just hate yourself and me, and I'll feel like a jackass.  I hate feeling like a jackass.  I hate everything that could compromise my perfect self-image."

"Oh."  She curled against him, holding his hand in hers.  "I'm not that drunk, you know."

"You're drunk enough."

The song of the river lulled him into a daze again.  Their breathing fell into the same rhythm and he thought she had fallen asleep.

"I love you," she told him.

"No.  You don't."  Gojyo knew the difference between need and want, and he knew the two were often hard to separate.  "You don't even like me very much."

"But I do," she protested softly.  "I love your hands, and your voice, and your walk.  I love how your unpredictable behavior falls into certain patterns.  I love how you don't love."

Gojyo cringed and rolled over.  Her fingers brushed his hair away from his face.  Her lips touched his scars.

"And," she said, "I love your pink hair."

Gojyo sat up quickly and glared down at her.  "It's not pink.  It's red."

"It is pink," she laughed.  "Very dark pink, but pink nonetheless."

"Leave my hair out of this.  Can't you just love my ass, or the bulge in my pants like other women?"

"Alright," she conceded.  "A compromise.  We'll call your hair blue, and I'll love both your ass and the bulge in your pants."

He did not look at her, nor did he speak.  The comments about his hair had stirred ghosts he had been trying to bury for years.  Her hand found his again and he made no protest as she twined their fingers together.

"Do you love me?" she asked.

"No."

She leaned her forehead on the back of his neck.  He could feel her breath against his skin, but made no move.

Then her presence was gone.  He looked up and saw her standing in ankle-deep water.

"Come here," she beckoned, holding her arms wide.

"I thought you said the river's curse makes people crazy."

"The night is already crazy.  What harm can the water do?"

Gojyo lay back down and breathed in the heady scent of the grass, the rain, the earth, and a history of summer nights, and made a decision.  Slowly, deliberately he rose and went to her.  He did not welcome her embrace.  He did not even touch her.  When the water was washing over his toes he stopped and looked at her, waiting to be impressed.

"You have to come deeper," she said, reaching for his arm.  "The one thing you've got to learn is not to be afraid of it."

"No, I like it," he protested, beginning to forgive her for bringing back memories.  She had not meant to, for she had not known.  Nobody knew, really.  "I like it, it's good."

She coaxed him deeper and deeper until the river reached their knees.  He shivered as the cold water rushed around his legs, but the summer heat left his face and neck feeling feverish.  He gripped her hands tighter for support, dreading that the force of the river would overpower him and drag him under.  She steadied him patiently, like a mother teaching a child to swim.

She smiled at him again, only the second one she'd given, and caressed his knuckles with her thumbs.  The gesture was intimate, but not intrusive.

"You like it now," she teased, "but you'll learn to love it later."

He held her gaze calmly, evenly.  "I won't learn to love you, if that's what you're getting at."

"I know," she replied.  "I don't love you either.  Not in the way you're thinking."

The two of them stayed there long after the water had chilled them both.  

In the morning, he had woken up on the grass and gone back home.  She had left and he knew he would not see her again.

At the time, Gojyo had been entranced by the surrealism of the night, but as time passed he did not think of the river or the woman.  Over a year later, when he found a demon in the rain on his way home from the tavern, he had forgotten entirely.

But for the rest of his days the sound of rivers in summertime made him feel a little crazy.

---

"Somewhere Down the Crazy River"

(Robbie Robertson)

Yea, I can see it now

The distant red neon shivered in the heat

I was feeling like a stranger in a strange land

You know where people play games with the night

God, it was too hot to sleep

I followed the sound of a jukebox coming from up the levee

All of a sudden I could hear somebody whistling

From right behind me

I turned around and she said

"Why do you always end up at Nick's Cafe?"

I said, "I don't know, the wind just kind of pushed me this way."

She said, "Hang the rich."

Catch the blue train

To places never been before

Look for me

Somewhere down the crazy river

Somewhere down the crazy river

Catch to blue train

All the way to Kokomo

You can find me

Somewhere down the crazy river

Somewhere down the crazy river

Take a picture of this

The fields are empty, abandoned '59 Chevy

Laying in the back seat listening to Little Willie John

Yea, that's when time stood still

You know, I think I'm gonna go down to Madam X

And let her read my mind.

She said, "That Voodoo stuff don't do nothing for me."

I'm a man with a clear destination

I'm a man with a broad imagination

You fog the mind, you stir the soul

I can't find, ... no control

Catch the blue train

To places never been before

Look for me

Somewhere down the crazy river

Somewhere down the crazy river

Catch to blue train

All the way to Kokomo

You can find me

Somewhere down the crazy river

Somewhere down the crazy river

Wait, did you hear that

Oh this is sure stirring up some ghosts for me

She said, "There's one thing you've got to learn

Is not to be afraid of it."

I said, "No, I like it, I like it, it's good."

She said, "You like it now

But you'll learn to love it later."

I been spellbound—falling in trances

I been spellbound—falling in trances

You give me the shivers—chills and fever

You give me the shivers—chills and fever

I been spellbound—somewhere down the crazy river


End file.
